


(i don't wanna) keep secrets just to keep you

by wulancaka (surabayuh)



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe, Gundala (2019)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Graphic Description of Injury, Wulan masquerading as Merpati without telling Sancaka, and our boy frets, anyway give us gay Sri Asih 2k19, in which Sancaka and Wulan are emotionally dumb people, with Nani and Teddy facepalming in the background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 03:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20614370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surabayuh/pseuds/wulancaka
Summary: “Lain kali hati-hati.” He opted to say, finally, a quiet reprimanding that conveyed as much worry as possible. Wulan sighed, nodding at him with a wry smile, Then a giggle. “kenapa?”“nggak.” She said, voice laced with mirth. “biasanya aku yang hobinya ngomong gitu ke kamu.”





	(i don't wanna) keep secrets just to keep you

**Author's Note:**

> i swear to god i was about to post this when it was at 4k bUT it kept adding layers and plot points and dialogues to itself until this monster appeared............ oh well you know the drill it's nano-nano so ind-dialogue and eng-description. it's wulancaka fluff/angst which is basically their whole dynamic. enjoy!!!

There was nothing gracious in being a fighter; it was always a punch here, kick there, a stab or a choke. Fighting was gruesome—and yet Sancaka witnessed as his own merry band of vigilantes expanded and added members, day-by-day.

He blamed Nani's persuasion skills to that.

Today, as he fought for another semi-big battle, it once again gained a new member; a woman, tall and lean and wearing all-white, even down to her mask. She wore combat-boots and a belt full of tools—weapons?—and when she caught him staring, she looked away.

Something about her seemed familiar, but Sancaka couldn’t put a finger on it. And that unsettled him.

_Who--?_

“Gundala!” yelled Nani breaking Sancaka off his misdirected fixation. “kiri!”

Her warnings was barely in time, and as much as he tried to dodge, he could see the thrown knife approaching his arm in speed. Grimacing, he closed his eyes, bracing for impact—

Only to feel nothing at all.

He opened his eyes and saw a white-gloved hand, grabbing the knife just before it hit his arms. He looked up and saw the newbie's face—or what's not covered of it—as she gritted her teeth and leapt to the enemy, using their own knife to make a mean slash.

Sancaka looked at her movement with wide eyes; she was agile in her steps, lithe and deadly as she knocked 5 men with a dance-like pencak silat moves. She reminded him of a—

“Merpati!”

Once again, Nani's voice pierced Sancaka's trail of thoughts, and he whipped his head to see her stomping her foot and cracking the Earth open, lining all the way to swallow the surprise enemy trying to attack the white-clad lady on her blind spot. The so-called team leader was at his side in seconds, switching her exasperated glare between him and the newcomer. “Fokus!” she almost snapped, dashing off before Sancaka could even give her a stunned reply.

The new woman—Merpati, Nani had called her—merely grunted, blowing the wild strands of hair covering her face. She then looked at him, her honey eyes narrowing down, as if trying to convey a shared exasperation.

Something churned in Sancaka's gut—the same something that told him he was supposed to _know _those eyes. And that whoever bore them _shouldn't _be here.

But then another rogue screamed, leaping an impossible jump to yet again attack him, and he was reminded of where he was; of what he was supposed to do.

_Kamu pahlawan, San, _he could hear Wulan's soft voice—the only fuel he needed to leap back and _fight._

When the whole thing was over, it was two in the morning. Nani merely panted and waved a hand, indicating a tired goodbye. Si Buta, as usual, bid goodbye in the most _klenik_ manner. Virgo fretted about her forgotten homework— "mampus aku om, hukum ekonomi kelas pertama, dosennya tai lagi,” she whined at him—but Sancaka's mind was focused elsewhere.

Because Merpati was nowhere to be seen.

“Cabut duluan dia.” Said Nani, tiredly, as if reading Sancaka's mind. Sancaka turned at her, surprised, and in return Nani gave him an assertive glance, as if judging him over an information he didn’t know. “Kalian juga, pada pulang, gih.”

“itu tadi siapa?” Sancaka asked, instead, planting his foot to the asphalt of the road and not planning to move until he had an answer.

“Merpati.” Said Nani, tone undecipherable, “orang baru. Dari tenggara.”

The curt answer didn’t do anything to settle his awry nerve, or to untick the blaring alarm in his head. But Nani turned away, indicating that the conversation was done for her. “Pulang,” she said, instead, tone commanding like an unpleased mother.

Sancaka pressed his lips tighter together, before turning his back on her, mind going thousands of miles per second as he dashed home.

_Who is she?_

* * *

“kemarin malem, tumben nggak dateng kesini?”

Sancaka looked up from his food—pecel lele and ca kangkung, a dinner Wulan had painstakingly put together after Sancaka had mentioned it off-handedly, he realized with flutters in his stomach—and looked at his neighbor.

She looked at him with something akin to worry, a look he’d grown accustomed to be the receiving end of. Wulan always worried about him, even when he told her not to. Not that he couldn’t understand; she was his go-to every time things went awry. She'd seen just how _ugly_ fights could get.

“Nggak apa,” he replied, attempting reassurance. “tadi malem nggak kena luka parah—cuma memar sama baret doang. Pagi tadi juga udah hilang.”

He gazed into her, trying to convey honesty. Beside him, Teddy slowed down his munches, switching his eyes between his sister and Sancaka.

Wulan, meanwhile, was not convinced. “beneran?” she asked, worriedly.

“Bener, kok.” Sancaka rolled his shirt, showing faint traces of scars that used to be there. “tuh. Udah hilang, kan?” he tapped his skin, as if to prove a point.

Deep wounds and slashes would take at least two days to heal in Sancaka-time, they all knew. So when Wulan saw the barely-there marks, she exhaled. “Syukur deh.” She said, sounding relieved—

—and somewhat proud?

She dug her food back, now diverting attention to Teddy, who was talking animatedly about his schools today. Sancaka off-handedly listened, but his focus was to her; how attentive she was to her little brother, how caring her responses were. Wulan radiated warmth whenever she interacted with Teddy—warm tone, warm voice, warm smile. Even in their silliest, most annoying bickers, she would still be as affectionate to Teddy as she could.

Sancaka could watch them interact all day—something about it just comforted him, made him feel _home._

(Everything about Wulan made him feel _home, _but he didn’t want to go there yet. Didn’t want to analyze the implications of _that._)

“…bang Sancaka ngelamun.”

Sancaka blinked. Teddy was looking at him accusingly. “nggak, kok.” He tried his best to sound flippant, only for his words to come out defensive.

“Alah, bohong. Coba, aku tadi ngomongin apa, kalo Abang gak ngelamun?” Teddy challenged him, tilting his head.

“…sekolah..?”

“Tuh, kan!” Teddy sounded triumphant, his little smirk growing. “pasti ngelamunin Mbak Wulan.”

“_Teddy!” _

Wulan hissed, Teddy laughed, and Sancaka merely bit his lips to suppress a smile and fail. The siblings bickered, again, and Sancaka didn't even need to bother denying Teddy’s mischievous accusations.

(Besides, there was no denying there. Teddy _was _right.)

Soon enough, dinner was over, and Teddy was instructed to wipe the table as Wulan washed the plates. Sancaka stood up as she was about to collect his utensils, holding her off, “aku bantuin.” He said, giving no room for her to argue, and she only offered him a shy smile and a tuck of her hair behind her ear.

“Oke.” She said, nodding, before handing half the weight of her plates to his open hand. It was only then did he saw hers—or rather, what wasn’t covered of it.

Her right palm was neatly bandaged, with a trace of red on the fabric's surface.

Sancaka frowned, looking up to her. “Luka kenapa tanganmu?”

For a split second, he was sure that all the mirth on Wulan's face was replaced by a surprised dread. But then her smile was back, albeit tempered, and she shrugged it off. “kena sekop.” She said, nonchalantly. “tadi kecocok gak sengaja waktu nambahin pupuk di pot.”

“Oh?” Sancaka raised an eyebrow, uncharacteristically skeptical. “beneran?”

“Ya masa bohong, San.” Wulan said, “gak apa kok. Paling seminggu hilang.”

Her answer had too much delicate casualty in it for him to buy it. But then he watched her face, and it was clear that she didn’t want him to press even more, so he let it slide.

“Lain kali hati-hati.” He opted to say, finally, a quiet reprimanding that conveyed as much worry as possible. Wulan sighed, nodding at him with a wry smile, Then a giggle. “kenapa?”

“nggak.” She said, voice laced with mirth. “biasanya aku yang hobinya ngomong gitu ke kamu.”

The unintended role reversal quietly stunned him, and he gave her a look that sent her chuckling even more. But then her chuckle made him chuckle as well, and their quiet laughs intertwined as he followed her to the sink.

(He liked the sound of their mixed voice. It made the insides of his chest did a subtle somersault.)

As she rolled her sleeve, preparing to wash the plates, he held her back, again—a concern popping to his mind. “aku aja yang nyuci. Luka baru kaya gitu jangan sering-sering kena air.”

Wulan opened her mouth to protest, but Sancaka had already nudged her hips to scoot over, gently, forcing her to begrudgingly hand him the room. He pick up the Sunlight-infused sponge and began rinsing the plates, humming to old songs as he did so. Wulan joined him right after—singing an off-key version of “_Widuri, lembut bagai rembulan, oh sayang…”_ with her wounded hand perched gently over his shoulder. Sancaka unconsciously leaned to her touch.

He glanced at Teddy, who merely shook his heads and mumbled under his breath as he sprayed _Cling! _to the table's surface.

Sancaka gladly took over dishes duty for the next week, the wound in Wulan's hand reduced to a nagging afterthought soon after.

* * *

Merpati came and went.

Most of the times Sancaka didn't see her as anything other than a fleeting shadow in his night patrols. Sometimes she'd appear, helping him to combat extra-persistent thugs with gracious moves that could be passed as a dance if it wasn't so deadly.

She never spoke to him—never really acknowledged him, even, except for some fleeting smiles and several exasperated looks. Sancaka merely gave her a dirty glare in return, his irritation at her growing by the second.

“Om Gundala!” yelled Virgo, breaking him off of his reverie. “awas—!”

He narrowly missed the homemade explosive thrown at him when he turned around, the fire grazing his cheek. He hissed, feet losing his balance as he landed on the ground, hitting his head to the concrete.

Sancaka groaned, his vision blurring and his head blazing in pain. He attempted to stand again with wobbly feet, only to be decked with yet another explosive, one that rung his ears so loudly his balance was thrown over.

He could see silhouettes approaching him amidst the smokes, raising their weapons without mercy, and winced—

And then Merpati leapt in front of him, landing on her tiptoes.

“_Wadon nggateli,” _Said one of the attackers, “_Ngaliho, jancok, nek gak tak pateni sisan kowe!” _

There was about 20 of them, wielding weapons from keris to guns. Anxiety tugged Sancaka’s heartstrings as he looked up to Merpati, yelling with croaky voice, “Merpati, mundur—” 

Merpati screeched, completely out of the blue, and jumped right into the bloodthirsty mob. Sancaka watched, stunned, as she spun around with precise movements, inflicting wounds and cracking bones as she did so.

It took him quick time to get over the painful ringing in his ear and the pounding in his head, but the time-span was enough for Merpati to knock at least half the thugs away, occasionally throwing a worried glance at him amidst the fighting. One of the thugs seemingly had realized this, and when Merpati was momentarily distracted to check on him, a man jumped with a raised crowbar, fully intending to land her a fatal blow.

“Merpati—!”

Sancaka immediately jumped, mindless of his injuries. The crowbar tore through Merpati’s suit, its sharpened edges cutting through her arm. She stumbled, left hand clutching her wound, and Sancaka growled. Before the thug could hit her the second time, Sancaka grabbed the crowbar in time with his bare hands. He buzzed the thing with lightning and attacked the thugs with it, sending them flying several yards away.

“Kamu gak apa?” He grunted, turning at her with instinctively worried eyes. Merpati herself was stunned, looking at him with wide eyes, but then there was an angry yell from the enemy, and they were forced to stand back-to-back, trying to protect one another the best that they could.

When it was all over, both of them were panting, blood red soaking from the tears in their suits as they tried to regulate their breathing.

“Wow,” Virgo gasped quietly. “keren _banget.” _

Sancaka begged to differ because _no, _it was anything _but _cool. Merpati practically nearly killed herself right there, leaping like a bird and throwing her own body into the mob with little to no meaningful protection, before he could even see or predict where she was going. Sancaka had a heart attack every time a blade grazed her arm, or a gunshot was released within her vicinity.

He felt irrationally concerned with her safety, and he didn’t even know _why. _

He didn’t even know _her._

“kalo gaya berantem kamu nekat gitu, kamu bisa kena serangan fatal.” He said, voice muffled through his mask, his teeth gritting.

Merpati turned at him, surprised coloring her eyes, before throwing him a sarcastic smile and an eyeroll. But she didn’t reply.

That was another thing about Merpati; she barely spoke. Sancaka had never even heard her voice.

Instead, Merpati threw a more genuine smile at Virgo, who enthusiastically returned her smile with a squeal, and dashed off like a mysterious prince in a bedtime story.

There were still droplets of her blood on the ground where she stood, and Sancaka’s stomach churned at this discovery.

When Sancaka met Nani afterwards for regular mission report, he confronted her.

“Merpati terlalu nggak bisa diprediksi.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “dia terlalu nekat—tiap temen setimnya kena lawan, atau dipojokkan, dia langsung main asal serang.”

Nani placed down her coffee cup—this week it was _Janji Jiwa, _which she branded as better than last week's hyperfixation, _Kulo_—and looked at him intently. “Bener gitu?”

“Iya,” Sancaka replied, rather impatiently. “tanya Virgo; kemarin dia langsung lompat gitu aja ke tengah-tengah preman yang bawa senjata lengkap waktu mereka ngepung aku.”

Nani gave him an unreadable look. “mungkin lo doang, kali.” She said, the words blurting out of her mouth. “eh—”

Sancaka raised an eyebrow at her, confusion lacing with his annoyance. “Maksudmu?”

“nggak.” Nani immediately back-tracked, picking her coffee and sipping it. “nggak jadi.”

But her sentence was too full for it to be incidental, and Sancaka was a patient man. He crossed his arms, daring her to elaborate.

When it was clear that Sancaka wouldn’t drop it, Nani sighed, groaning inwardly as she lowered the straw from her mouth. “don’t take it the wrong way, lho,” she said, in her accentuated Jak-Sel English, “tapi mungkin—mungkin, nih ya, waktu itu dia liat lo butuh dibantuin. Jadi dia ngebantu.” She shrugged, sipping her drink again. “usually, dia bisa kok gue arahin, kemarin waktu dia partneran sama si Buta juga, nyerangnya pake strategi. Gaya berantemnya aja bagus gitu—kaya lagi nari; calculated banget.”

Sancaka didn’t accept that explanation. “tetep aja, Nan,” he argued, “kalo dia terlalu gampang kepancing di lapangan, dia bisa jadi bumerang buat kita.”

Nani looked up at him, giving him a weird face as she did so. “lo kayanya kok, sentimen banget sama dia?” she asked, tone genuinely curious. “kenapa? Dia pernah ngerjain lo di lapangan?”

Sancaka waved a hand, trying to downplay his frustration—because he _shouldn’t _be this frustrated. “ngomong aja kita gak pernah.” He said, trying to feign nonchalance. “aku dateng kesini cuma buat kasih saran buat tim; itu aja.”

Now it was Nani's turn to be surprised. “kalian nggak pernah ngomong?” she asked, eyes widening.

“…nggak.”

Nani tilted her head, mouth opening but not saying anything for a while. “…oke.” She said, her voice indicating that everything was anything _but_ okay. “hm. Oke.” She clasped her hands. “sama sekali?”

Now Sancaka was intrigued. “emang kenapa?”

But Nani was already delving into her own thoughts, lacing her hands together at this odd revelation. “hm. Oke.” She said, again, mostly to herself than him. “yah—bener sih, tapi—” she mumbled, voice barely audible.

Sancaka eyed her as she talked to herself.

“oke, hm. Yaudah.” She said, suddenly hasty. “Mungkin dia nggak suka ngomong. Mungkin. Gue gak tau.” She said, her shrug far too composed and careful for it to be a genuine confusion. “yaudah. Lo pulang sana gih. Udah malem.” She added, “kasian cewe lo pasti nungguin.”

Sancaka was about to argue with her when she dropped that bombshell, and suddenly all his focus was diverted to her last few phrase. “aku nggak punya pacar.” He deadpanned her.

Nani blinked, now her eyes even more confused. “lah, itu, tetangga lo? Si Wulan?” she asked, and Sancaka was too busy blushing for him to realize that Nani seemed to remember his neighbor's name off the top of her head.

“Cuma temen.” He mumbled, diverting his gaze away to trace the random patterns of the wall.

Nani looked at him, eyes fluttering as she mumbled. “Oh. _Oh.” _She said, as if she was getting a personal enlightenment. “oke. Yah.” She tapped a finger on her chin, “Beneran nggak pacaran, kalian?”

“Apa sih,” Sancaka could feel his cheeks warming by the second. He squirmed at his stance uncomfortably, his mind now trying to divert his thoughts away from _anything else _but the thought of him and Wulan, dating.

(_but would that be so bad? _The treacherous part of his mind challenged, _Would learning to wholly, fully love her be so bad?) _

_(<strike>aren’t you already doing that</strike>?) _

Nani looked at him with newfound fascination. “Kalo gitu gue deketin, boleh ya?” she said, cheekily, and Sancaka was too busy fuming to realize the joke in her tone.

“ya, terserah.” He said, way too quickly for it to be casual—or honest. “orangnya pinter. Cantik. Deketin aja, nggak apa. Kenapa bilang ke aku?”

But Nani was already shaking her head, snickering as she did. “Lo tuh ya,” she said, in-between giggles. “udah. Pulang sana.”

And then Sancaka was shooed away in a mother-henning gesture so characteristically Nani, only able to pick an “oh, pantesan,” before he was pushed out of the door.

He walked home even more confused.

* * *

“Bang San?”

There was an incessant, continuous knock on his door, and Sancaka opened his eyes. His eyes traveled to the clock on his wall—six am. That was… six hours of sleep. _Wow._

The last time he had a meaningful fight was the ones from few nights ago—when Merpati and he fought back-to-back and he was involuntarily exposed to his unwarranted concern for her. These days’ patrol didn’t yield him much other than little thieves and violent _preman. _This meant he got to get home earlier, sleep longer, and not bother Wulan at an ungodly hour in the morning, asking her to patch him up.

(He wouldn’t lie—he longed for those sessions, despite only missing it for less than a week. It felt like hours spent with Wulan was the only time he could feel vulnerable. She sheltered him in ways that was so different from Awang, and yet felt eerily similar.)

“Bang?”

He stood up, slightly losing his balance from sleep, before going to open the door. Before him stood Teddy, still in his shirts and boxers instead of the SD uniform. He narrowed his eyes. “Loh. Kok belum siap-siap?” He asked, trying to remember what day it was. Wasn’t Sunday, now, was it?

“Nggak masuk hari ini.” He said, curtly. “Mbak Wulan sakit, aku harus jagain.” His voice was clipped, as if carefully controlled to hide the worry so evident in his face. “Bang Sancaka bisa beliin obat, nggak? Buat panas—apa sih namanya, pasaratumol?”

“Parasetamol?”

“Nah, iya, itu! Susah banget, sih, namanya.”

Sancaka’s brows furrowed as the little boy grumbled before him, his sleep-addled brain catching and focusing on one thing only. “Wulan sakit?”

Teddy looked up at him, giving him an odd gaze. “Iya, kan tadi udah dibilangin—”

“Sakit apa?” Now Sancaka grew worried, and sleep dissipated as quick as a blink of an eye for him as his thoughts were filled with increasing paranoia. “dari kapan?”

He only saw her in fleeting, these days; nodding when he caught her coming and going to her shift, or having small conversations before either of them had to be inevitably consumed by their respective works.

“Panas, doang, kok. Dari dua hari yang lalu.”

Two days ago—two days ago he was having dinner at her place. He noticed that she was slightly swaying, and that her hand was slightly warmer than usual, and that her body was faintly shaking, but he didn’t connect the dots. He was fuming now, because he _should have. _

He tried to remember what day was it again—Saturday? He had no shifts on Saturdays.

“kamu siap-siap sekolah sana.” He said to Teddy, finally, after a split second of contemplation. “Nanti aku yang antar.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes in protest. “Lah terus Mbak Wulan—?”

“gak apa. Aku gak jaga hari ini. Biar aku aja yang rawat.” Sancaka immediately replied, tapping Teddy's forehead with two fingers. “kamu gak boleh bolos, oke?”

Teddy's protests went unheard as Sancaka ushered him out with a 15-minutes deadline. While the little boy begrudgingly obeyed and started getting ready, Sancaka sat on his flat, chin on his clasped hands.

Wulan was _sick_.

He didn't know why the thought felt like a cold blow on his chest and a twist in his gut. Didn’t know why it felt like his heart felt like it had been stabbed upon knowing this information.

He shook his head, instead trying to focus on a more practical activity; getting ready as well to drop Teddy off his school.

When Teddy returned—uniform-clad, this time, Sancaka wasted to time and immediately led him out from the rusun. His school starts in 30 minutes. They had to be quick if they don't want to be late. Sancaka drove as fast as the speed limit would allow him, and by the time they arrived at his school gates, it was only on a record-10-minutes span.

Teddy hopped from his motorcycle, blowing his stray strands of hair, before turning at him, offering a hand for _salim_. “makasih ya bang.” He said, before dashing off to the school gates.

Sancaka wanted to wait until Teddy entered, but instead the little boy stopped midway, turning his small body to face him. “Bang,” he gave Sancaka a solemn look, one that Sancaka had never seen before. “Ban Sancaka bakal jagain Mbak Wulan, kan? Gak bakal biarin dia kenapa-napa, kan?”

The tone of the question was almost accusatory, if it wasn’t a plea. Sancaka looked at the little boy before him, feeling the knot in his gut tightening. “iya,” he genuinely replied. “janji.”

Teddy narrowed his eyes, but his posture relaxed, and he nodded. “oke bang. Makasih ya.” He said, offering him a small smile before finally, finally entering the building, leaving Sancaka behind, all alone.

Still, Sancaka was still confused on Teddy's sudden outburst. It seemed way too much of a stressful reaction for a common cold. He narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Wulan's sickness was worse than Teddy described?

The hypothesis prickled dread to his skin, like a thousand tiny sharp knives.

Sancaka shook his head, refocusing his purpose. He biked his way home, hopping by a K-24 to buy a paracetamol, and a street vendor to grab two portions of _bubur ayam_—carefully, he placed it on the hanger of his bike. He knew that Wulan didn't like her porridge stirred, and he didn’t want to disturb the meal's delicate balance when it was meant for her.

He slipped into her flat quietly, knocking her bedroom door with the gentlest knock possible.

“Ted?” croaked a voice from inside, so tired and _vulnerable_.

Sancaka bit his lip, wholly unprepared of how much Wulan's weak response would assault his conscience. “Sancaka, Lan.” He said, correcting her. “Teddy aku anterin sekolah tadi. Aku—” he took a deep breath, “aku boleh masuk?” 

There was a muffled voice, an incorrigible yelp, and then several noises of things crashing before Wulan finally replied with a croaky, yet high-pitched voice. “oke.”

He opened the door with a gentle movement, and if the mere sound of her voice didn’t crack his voice, her appearance surely shattered it.

She was wearing a shirt too big—was the shirt his, from the piles he left out after the patch-up sessions? He wasn't sure—and trying her best to open droopy eyes. The surroundings of her cheeks were red; not from embarrassment, but from high temperature, it seemed. She also put up her hair in a more presentable manner, managing a sloppy ponytail.

Next to her was a basin of water and a wet cloth, no doubt used to lower her temperature.

Sancaka curled his fist tighter around the plastic bag. “Kok nggak bilang kalo sakit?” he said, as he approached the drawer next to her bed and placed the food on it.

Wulan shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Cuma panas doang. Paling besok juga turun.”

Sancaka frowned. “Lain kali bilang.” He said, tone reprimanding. He then scooted over to her small bed, and placed a hand over her forehead, instinctively, trying to feel her temperature.

It was only then did he realize that the red on Wulan’s face deepened ever-so-slightly, and he blushed, offering her a small smile. She looked down, and he flipped over his hand. “Masih hangat.” He said, smile faltering into a frown. “Udah diukur suhunya?”

Wulan smiled, sheepishly. “Nggak punya thermometer…” She admitted shyly.

The frown on Sancaka’s face softened, and unconsciously, he brushed a strand off her sweaty forehead. “Aku ada. Bentar aku ambilin dulu ya.” He said, looking at her intently, before reluctantly pulling away, dashing off to his room and rummage his storage. He returned in a second, retaking his place next to her and nudging her lips to open. “Aa,” he said, unconsciously imitating the movement he wanted her to do.

Wulan let out a small chuckle as she obliged, biting the thermometer for a few minutes. The silence around them was comfortable as he looked around her peeling walls and her cracked roof. It took Wulan clearing her throat to draw his attention back to her, and she slipped off the thermometer and handed it back to him.

His forehead crinkled when he saw the number. “40 derajat.” He said, either to himself or to Wulan he wasn’t sure. He then looked up and look at her, his worry now uncontainable. “Ini udah 2 hari segini terus?”

Sheepishly, Wulan shrugged, again, grimacing a bit as she did so. Sancaka’s frown deepened. He then dug the plastic bag he carried, fishing out the drug he bought for her earlier, before going out to get her a glass of water. When he returned, he handed her both things, ordering her with a gentle-yet-firm voice. “Minum ini dulu,” He commanded her, giving no room to argue.

Giving him a fondly exasperated look, Wulan took it anyway; first the drug, tearing the packaging with her left hand and her mouth and popping it right in, before the water, gulping it greedily. Sancaka eyed her watchfully the whole time.

“Dah,” she said, wiping a dripping droplet of water at the corner of her mouth. Sancaka nodded in satisfaction, before reaching the top of her drawers again.

“nih, bubur ayam.” He said, handing her a Styrofoam packaging, one which she accepted gingerly with one hand. “gak diaduk kok.”

Wulan offered him a brighter smile this time—dazzling even in the dim lights of her room—and delicately opened the packaging. “makasih, ya, San.” She said, gratefully, placing the meal on her lap and holding it with her left hand while her right attempted to grab the spoon.

Highlight on attempting, because her right hand was shaking way too badly for her to manage the activity successfully.

Sancaka scrunched his eyes, noting this. “tangan kamu kenapa?” he asked, suspiciously.

Wulan, seemingly picking up on this, immediately lowered her right hand down as fast as she could, attempting to hide it under the covers. “nggak apa kok—”

But Sancaka was faster, grabbing her arm midway and gently bringing it to him, inspecting it intently. There were faint marks of bruises, like she'd been involved in a brawl, and hidden under the shirt's sleeves was—

“Kok perbanan?”

“beneran, San, gak apa—aduh!”

Sancaka poked the bandaged area with the gentlest, most featherlight touch he could muster, and still Wulan winced in pain. He looked up to her, narrowing his eyes as he inspected the bandage—red and yellow coloring its surface. He gently lowered the hand down then walked out, trying to find her first aid kit, and returned with a fresh set of bandage and plaster.

“San, gak usah—”

“Ssh,” Sancaka said, softly, opening the bandage slowly as he did so. What greeted him was an ugly wound, running diagonally across her arm. His stomach churned at this, internally crushing himself as he looked up to her. “ini kenapa, Lan?”

Wulan sighed, running her free hand to her hair. “ada pasien ngamuk, dua hari yang lalu,” she offered a hasty explanation, “ngambil skalpel sama gunting. Main tusuk-tusuk personil medis yang nanganin dia. Aku kena.” She said, softly. “Gak apa, San, beneran—”

He was increasingly annoyed by her nonchalance of all this, because it was clear that it was _not. _“Kayaknya panas kamu gara-gara luka ini infeksi.” He said, curtly, as he started dabbing a cotton pad to the alcohol solution. “aku bersihin dulu, ya. Ini bakal sakit.”

Wulan bit her lower lip, her face wary and unsure, but she nodded, anyway, leaning closer to him. Sancaka swiped the gauze with the pad as gently as possible, heart cracking little by little every time Wulan hissed, or silently groaned, or winced and bit her lip. He then noticed that there were swelling on the wound and a leaking pus, so he looked at her with apologetic eyes. “ini aku keluarin, ya. Biar bersih.”

Wulan nodded, looking away. Sancaka took a deep breath and dealt with the swelling and the infection, his peripheral catching Wulan's hand clutching the blankets tightly as he did so. The pained look in her face made his head pound in fear that he might have did something wrong, but he had observed her doing this to him countless times, and Wulan didn’t seem to indicate that anything was faulty with his movements.

Still, he couldn't help but to blurt, “Maaf ya,” over and over and over again and _meant _it, because necessity or not, he _hated _hurting her like this, hated seeing her in pain even when it was compulsory to her well-being.

“Nggak apa,” Wulan soothed him, trying to sound as gentle as possible even in-between winces.

One it was done, the wound is now an angry red instead of the deathly purple-yellow it was before, and Sancaka padded it with alcohol once more, for good measure, before wrapping the bandage delicately around her arm.

“Kok bisa sih, sampai kaya gini?” he looked up to her, frowning as he started to collect the medical wastes.

Wulan squirmed under his gaze, looking at her fidgeting fingers. “udah aku bilang, ada pasien ngamuk,” she said, lamely.

Sancaka wanted to point out that wounds like that would only get infected if either the cleaning wasn't done right, or the weapon used to create it was contaminated. A doctor's scalpel and scissor were highly unlikely to not be sterilized, and she was too much of an excellent nurse to let her own wounds heal badly.

In conclusion, he had a hunch that she was lying.

But Wulan looked up to him under hooded eyelashes, and suddenly Sancaka was reminded that this woman was sick, that he was taking care of her, that this was no time for confrontations and fights, not when she could barely keep her eyes open and her temperature in check.

He sighed, reluctantly storing the conflict for later, when she was feeling better. He instead nudged her again to hand him back the porridge, and grabbed a spoonful of meal before aiming it at her mouth.

Wulan blushed deeper, mouth forming a nervous splutter. “San, ngapain?”

“dulang kamu. Orang kamu gak bisa makan sendiri.” He said, dead serious. “ayo, buka.”

“Aduh, nggak usah—”

“Aa,” Sancaka said, pressing the spoon over her parted mouth gently. 

Blushing, She looked away as she opened her mouth again, taking the meal. Sancaka was mindful with his portions, making sure it wasn't too big for her and wasn’t too quick of a pace. He ignored his own growing shyness as the implications of this very private act dawned on him, hell-bent on continuing rather than feeding off his embarrassment.

_She looks cute when she eats_, he thought, idly, and warmth spread over his chest when Wulan offered him a shy smile of gratitude. “makasih ya.” She said, yawning a little when she was done.

He nodded in return, solemnly. “tidur gih, sekarang.” He ordered her, softly. “sakit tuh, istirahat yang cukup biar cepet sembuhnya.”

Wulan threw him a look of fond exasperation. “siap Pak dokter.” She said, left hand mock-saluting him. She rearranged her position, laying flat on her back, and before long she dozed off, breathing quiet.

Sancaka observed her somberly, as he raised her blanket to cover her torso and reapplied the washcloth to her forehead. There was a tick in his gut—a tick telling him that he was supposed to _know_ the real story of Wulan's mysterious wound. That the dots were there, and all he had to do was just connect them.

But his mind hit blanks every time he tried to find conclusion, and he ended up calling himself off before he got too frustrated.

Instead he looked around, trying to find activities to do that could kill his time. Wulan’s loft was decidedly dirty after 2 days of being untouched, and Sancaka could feel dust sticking to his bare feet. He glanced at Wulan, who was deep in her slumber, curling herself to her left side as she did so.

Sancaka decided that a little bit of cleaning wouldn’t hurt—so he rolled his sleeves and got to work.

Rusun flats were extremely small, so sweeping and mopping the place didn’t exactly take long. But then he found out abandoned dishes in the sink, and got to work. Then he found out about the empty gas, and phoned a local Indomaret to send him some. Then he found out about the bare fridge, and ended up biking to the market to buy her some fresh ingredients.

He ended up doing _everything _to make sure Wulan’s flat was back to its usual orderly design, just the way she always did it for him.

When he got back from the market, Sancaka set the groceries down and opened the fridge, slowly categorizing where things need to be put, and which needed to be thrown away. The painstaking process lasted for quite some time, and it certainly filled his mind nicely enough to distract her out of Wulan’s mysterious wound—

Until.

His hand was blindly reaching for the top of the fridge to gain leverage so he could stand, when it accidentally swiped something and made it fell with a soft _thud _to the ground. It was a plastic bag, it seemed, and Sancaka bent to pick it up, intending to put it back where it belonged, but something slipped off of it—a familiar white suit he’d only seen at nights before.

Sancaka froze, all idle thoughts leaving him.

Slowly, shakily, he picked up the clothing, begging to everyone willing to listen that he was wrong, he should be wrong, because it couldn’t _be, _right? It couldn’t—

The suit unfurled, along with the slashes and the cuts and the faint red marks around it.

Sancaka clutched it tighter than he ever clutched anything else before, heart pounding and mind racing. Wulan was—she was—?

“San?”

He abruptly turned around, seeing Wulan standing at the side of the doorframe, all colors draining from her face. “Ngapain kamu?” She said, her voice high-pitched and panicking, as she hastily approached him with wobbly steps, attempting to take the suit from him.

(_Attempting to hide the truth from him._)

“Kamu—” Sancaka’s voice sounded distant, as if he was detached as he was speaking. “Kamu Merpati?”

Wulan took the suit with one hand, holding it close to her chest, like it was a shield that could protect her.

Sancaka’s mind was racing a trillion mile per second. “luka kamu—” he said, hand gesturing the general area of her right arm. “itu gara-gara—?”

_The thug. The crowbar. The droplets of blood in the street. _

That night, after the fight and the report, he immediately stumbled to her place, exhausted and spent. Wulan had opened up her door and aided him up dutifully, carrying on conversation as if nothing had happened. As if less than an hour before, Wulan hadn’t almost send herself to a deadly battle.

Suddenly _everything _made sense. Merpati never spoke to him because he would _know _Wulan’s voice anywhere. Nani’s weird conversation after the report—she must have known who Merpati truly was, and her connection to _him. _And the wounds—

The odd infection made sense—Wulan must not had enough time to fix herself before Sancaka all but fell into her front porch, demanding a patch-up. Wulan must have discarded her own injury in favor of tending _his. _

Coldness seeped through his veins, spreading through his fingertips as bitter realization dawned upon him. His chest was heaving, constricting, trying to grasp a breath of fresh air that now seemed unattainable.

Wulan was—

She almost—

And he didn’t—

“Aku bisa jelasin,” Said Wulan, shakily, approaching him with hesitant steps. “San—”

“Kamu bisa meninggal,” Sancaka blurted, his voice laced with fear and anger, all intertwined together into something _else. _“Lan, kamu mikir apa—?”

“Kamu tiap malam selalu babak belur, aku pingin bantu, San—”

“Kalau misalnya refleksku gak cukup cepat, preman itu bisa bunuh kamu, Lan—”

“Kamu tau berapa kali kamu dateng kesini, kejang-kejang? Aku nggak mau kamu begitu terus—”

“Terus itu artinya kamu harus berantem buat aku? Hampir mati karena preman-preman sinting itu—”

“Aku cuma—”

“Aku begini—”

“_Biar kamu nggak kenapa-napa_!”

They said their last part with equally raised voices, chest panting heavily as they did so. Sancaka noted that Wulan’s forehead had formed a thin layer of sweat, and that her stance was wobbly. She looked at him through pleading eyes, like she was begging for him to see reason.

He choked on his throat, emotions clogging his chest.

It took him a while to identify that the feeling looming over his entire body was fear; fear for her safety, fear for her health, fear for her _life. _He clutched his chest, trying to regulate his breathing while leaning closer to her. He _needed _to feel her presence—safe; home; _alive._

And then, out of nowhere, Wulan chuckled, wetly. “Gitu juga perasaanku tiap kali kamu pulang pagi-pagi, luka dimana-mana.” She said, voice thick and quivering.

_This woman—this exasperating, nerve-wracking, awe-inducing, amazing, wonderful, adoring woman—_

Sancaka couldn’t help it; he pulled—no, _crushed _her into a hug, mindful of her tender arm. “Nggak ada lagi rahasia-rahasiaan.” He croaked, “mulai sekarang, kamu bilang kalau ada—beginian—” he gestured to her right side, where her injury presided, “oke?” He buried his nose to her hair, inhaling the smell of her shampoo to soothe his nerves.

Wulan’s muttered to his chest, left hand clutching his shirt. “Kamu juga.” She said, “Jangan sampai aku harus denger kalau kamu luka parah dari orang lain lagi.” She distanced herself away to look at him with misty eyes, “Sumpah, San, waktu Nani cerita gimana kamu dapat luka sabetan yang di punggung kamu itu bulan lalu—” She gulped, shaking her head. “Nggak lagi, oke?”

Sancaka nodded, numbly, looking at her intently. They gazed into each other’s eyes, worry slowly unfurling, replaced with a quiet resignation—and a small, hopeful smile.

The silence that loomed seemed like forever, until finally, finally Wulan chuckled. “Kamu culun juga kalo berantem.” She said, softly.

“Ah, daripada kamu,” Sancaka rebutted, equally as quiet, “nekat gitu, bikin orang lain jantungan.”

“kaya kamu nggak bikin aku jantungan tiap hari aja San, San…”

He looked at her, gazing into her honey eyes, so full of trust and affection, and felt a little bit of calamity lodging to his chest. He followed her back to the bedroom, receiving a small _thanks _from her for cleaning up her loft.

Everything wasn’t okay, now; there were still many to discuss—her powers, his worries, their dynamics—but as he listened to Wulan’s voice, he couldn’t help but to think that it would be okay, _soon. _

And he was willing to wait and fight for that.

(Teddy came home from school finding both Bang Sancaka and Mbak Wulan falling asleep together on her bed, her head to his shoulder. Bang Sancaka mumbled, and Mbak Wulan snuggled closer to his chest.

He sighed, inwardly.

_Cin, Bucin.) _

**Author's Note:**

> follow me at twitter, @surabayuh. i tweet BCU cracks and I'm amusing i swear.


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